HetaOni: Perspectives
by Optimistically-Hopeless
Summary: A series of short stories from the perspectives of all of the countries. Will they be able to get out of the mansion alive? Rated T for violence and angst.


So, I started watching HetaOni a few weeks ago. I absolutely ADORE it! Believe it or not, it actually takes a lot to make me cry… and I began sobbing… four times… at least. XD This was the first part that made me begin to cry. It was so heart breaking! Plus, in my roleplaying group, I'm Italy, so I feel a special connection with him. It hurt so much to see him in that much pain. Also, like usual, I was planning for this just to be a oneshot… that's not the case anymore. I'm going to do a chapter from each character's perspective. So it should be fun/depressing. XD

So, obviously, there are spoilers in this story! If you have not watched HetaOni, then DO NOT read this! If you decide to read it anyways, DO NOT flame me! I warned you!

Anyways, I hope you like it! Please review!

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The shattering sound reverberated through the room, glass flying through the air. Small chips nicked Italy's skin, but he didn't care. He couldn't feel his wounds, new or old, couldn't feel pain, couldn't feel anything. His whole being was numb. His mind was a blank as he grabbed another plate and smashed it against the wall, feeling it disintegrate in his hands. A shard slid across his fingers, slicing the skin open. Blood dripped down from the wounds, but he didn't care—he was so used to the blood by now. He watched the blood seep into the carpet around the shards, and sudden memories of someone else's blood entered his mind. He stared wide eyed as the memories flashed through his head—Japan gasping for his last breaths, dying in his arms; Russia, China and France heaped together on the ground, blood pooling around their corpses; America holding both England and Canada close to him, waiting to join them in death.

And then the sight of Germany and Prussia balanced against the wall, both with eyes closed, looking like they were just sleeping. However, they're gaping wounds and blood surrounding them said otherwise. Italy had been crying before he had found the two of them, disturbed to see so many of his friends dead. But once he found Germany… Germany, the one who had protected him, the one who had accepted him, the one who was his only true friend. At that moment, something had broken inside of him. He didn't know what it was—his sanity? His heart? All he could do then was scream and yell and cry. After that, he found himself grabbing anything he could and breaking it. Breaking plates, breaking chairs, breaking tables and bookshelves. Anything he could break, he did. Anything he couldn't break, he damaged. No one was here to calm him, to reassure him.

He was alone. And it was all his fault.

"Dammit!" he screeched, punching the wall with his already bloodied fist. "Dammit all to hell!" Why couldn't he have defended anyone? Why couldn't he have stayed put and tried to defend his friends? Why did he always have to run? Why did he have to be such a worthless coward?

_Stop it_, a voice said in his head. Italy shivered as he recognized the voice not as his own, but as a much deeper one. Germany's voice. _Stop hurting yourself._

"You can't make me," Italy murmured, staring down at the dirtied floor. "You can't make me. You're dead because of me. You can't stop me because I killed you." His knees finally gave out as he fell to the floor, the glass shards digging into his skin. He barely felt them, that pain being nothing compared to the emotional pain he was suffering now. "Please. Please hate me."

_Never_.

Italy let out another scream, slamming his fists against the ground. Glass imbedded itself in his skin, but he welcomed the pain. He deserved to hurt, deserved to be bleeding, deserved to never be happy again. He didn't deserve to live. He should have been the one to die. It made no sense that he was alive. Out of all the countries, he was the weakest, the most worthless. Why did he have to be alive? Why?

Through his ragged breaths, he heard something crunch behind him. Air caught in his throat as he listened closely through the silence. He heard nothing, but felt an ominous presence pressing against him. Ever so slowly, he turned his head to peek out the corner of his eye. But he already knew what he was going to see.

It was there.

Without a second thought, Italy jumped up and began running, ignoring the glass biting his skin. He had to run, had to hide, had to keep on being his cowardly self because he was too terrified to die. He didn't want to die now, because he was sure he was going to go to Hell, sure he was going to be damned forever because he let all of his friends die. Picking a door at random, Italy threw it open and jumped in, slamming it shut behind him, locking the door just in time to feel the Thing hit violently against it, sending him jumping back.

He was locked in. The Thing was locked out. He had a few more minutes to live his meaningless life.

Italy wanted to start breaking things again out of frustration, but there was nothing fragile in this room. All that was in this room was books upon books upon books. If nothing else, he could at least rip pages out. It wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as breaking glass, but it was something to do with his last few minutes of life. He grabbed a book at random and was about to start ripping pages from it until he read the front page:

_Ryuuzu no Ko; the only one to travel through time_.

It must have just been a fantasy book. Italy grabbed a page and was about to rip it out. However, he was never able to as the door flew off from its hinges.

Italy screamed, turning around to find the Thing staring at him from the door, watching every movement he made. There was only one way out and the Thing was blocking it. It stepped forward.

Having lost everything, yet still too scared to die, Italy ran as fast as he could, trying to get the Thing away from the door. If he could get out of the room, he had a better chance of getting away. As he ran, he had an internal struggle. All of his friends had died. He was the only one left. Why did he deserve to live when everyone else had died?

But if he died, that would mean that all of the countries were dead. He had to live, didn't he? He had to live to carry on what had been left behind.

But why should it be him? Him who was weak and cowardly? Him, who's only reason for living was because he could run the fastest. Why should he be the one to try to restore the world?

The others had wanted him to live! They had given up their lives for him, so he should continue living, should carry their legacy. He had to live for them! If he died, they would have died in vain.

They were dead because of him. He had let them die. He had done nothing as he just left them and let them die.

Making a sudden turn, Italy tried to throw It off, even just slightly so he could escape. The door was open and free! He just had to run fast enough, and he'd be out of the room, be able to run toward the exit. Not daring to look behind him, Italy pushed his legs as fast as they would go.

Everything seemed to black out as Italy continued to run. One moment, he was running through the library door. Then he felt himself continuing to run, but lost track of where he was, what he was doing, how much time had passed. Suddenly, he was blinded with light as he threw open another door, barely aware of the action.

It was outdoors. He was outside of the mansion.

He had gotten out.

"I got out," he murmured to himself, looking at the scenery around him. It was pounding rain, leaving everything around him soaked, leaves on the trees glistening slightly in the daylight. "I'm the only one who survived, the only one who got out." His legs continued to carry him forward, leaving the shelter of the mansion as the rain began to fall on him as well. He felt his clothes become weighted down with the water, felt his hair begin to plaster to his scratched face as the blood—most of it not his own—was washed away. "I shouldn't have been able to get out…" he whispered, the realization finally hitting him. He had escaped. He was out. "What the hell? This doesn't even make any sense," he whimpered, feeling his body begin to shake from the chill of the rain and the chill in his heart. "Out of everyone, _I'm_ the only one left? What the hell?" His legs shook beneath him, tears once again escaping his eyes. "_What the hell?"_

Click.

Italy turned behind him at the noise of the door opening. For only a fraction of a second did he hope that it was Germany opening the door—anyone opening the door, coming to join him in freedom. But a cold shock ran through him as he made eye contact with It. He had gotten out, but the Thing was still after him. It still wanted him.

A pathetic cry escaping him, Italy turned away from the mansion and ran. He hated himself as he continued to run—why couldn't he fight back? Why couldn't he do anything besides run?

Why couldn't he do anything right?

"Stop!" Italy screamed, digging his heels into the muddy ground and swirling around to face It. "I won, right?" he growled, glaring at it as he felt his fists quiver in anger and desperation. "You couldn't catch me; you lost! The moment I get out of here, you'll lose!" Italy took a gasp of air as tears of hatred and regret flowed down his face. "There's nothing you can do from that distance! When I get out of here, this place won't be the same as before, you know! As a nation, I will destroy this place!"

It did nothing as it stood and stared at him, as if sizing up his threat to see if it was legitimate. For once in his life, Italy stood his ground as he stared directly back at it. "Doesn't that make you frustrated?" he hissed viciously. "Huh? I'm your last trophy, after all. You lost to the guy whose only redeeming feature is his fast feet."

A silence once again took over, Italy glaring with a pure hatred at It. His chest heaved as he choked back a sob. "…Back…" he gasped, shaking more than ever. "Take us back! You can take us back in this warped space, can't you? If you do that, why don't you eat me first? If you can catch me, that is."

It continued to stare at him, as if thinking this over. But Italy didn't humor it with time. "GO BACK!" he screeched, squeezing his eyes shut as his legs finally gave out beneath him.

Light.

All Italy saw was light.

Italy felt his face pressed against something smooth and cold, slight noise going on around him. His eyes were closed from the bright light, his eyes hurting from the shock. He stayed still and listened to what was going on around him, listening for signs of an immediate threat. Suddenly, a hand placed itself on his shoulder.

Not knowing what else to do, he jumped up and screamed. His vision spun around him as he turned to see who was trying to kill him now. But he felt his heart jump, feeling like it was about to stop.

Germany.

"What's wrong, Italy?" he asked, looking surprised at Italy's reaction. His blue eyes were wide, curious, and amazingly full of life. Italy had never thought eyes could look so lively until now. Now that he had seen so many dull, lifeless eyes.

Not able to control himself, he pounced on the German, wrapping his tiny arms around him. He immediately began to quake with sobs, almost not willing himself to believe that he was here. He buried his face in Germany's chest, and kept on asking himself:

How?

_Take us back_!

It had really brought him back. All of his friends were alive, and he had another chance.

Letting the final tears escape him, he took a deep breath as he made a promise to himself. No matter how long it took, no matter how many times he had to try, he was never going to let his friends down again. He'd never watch them get hurt, never let them out of his sight.

He would finally stand his ground.

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-sniffle- Poor Italy. It took me so long to write this! I mean, this was sad, and I had no idea how to finish this or how to get the emotions just right. I wanted to stay true to the story, but I also wanted to add to it, make it stronger. I hoped I did a good job with that. (:

Thanks for reading, and please review! :D


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